Young But Growing
by starrrz
Summary: Sequel to 'Growing Pains'. Vlad's honeymoon period with the Council is officially over. Robin's problems are, as ever, a little more straightforward.
1. Chapter 1

**[ A/N: Part one of six? Sequel to 'Growing Pains', not sure how much sense it will make if you haven't read that one... Warnings for lots of innuendo! ]**

"Once upon a time, in a land not so very far away, there lived a little vampire named Vladdy. But, Vladdy wasn't an ordinary vampire. Vladdy didn't enjoy drinking blood, hunting, or making people cry. In fact, Vladdy was a _wimpire_."

"Because of this no vampiress in all the world would touch Vladdy, not even with a sharpened stake. And, so, Vladdy had to turn his attention to an ugly peasant breather called Robin. Vladdy's father, as pathetic an excuse for a vampire as his son, was powerless to stop their _disgusting_ union."

"And, yet, Vladdy, being the snivelling wimpire you now know him to be, failed time and again to make their bond official. Robin was so repulsive that, no matter how he tried, Vladdy simply couldn't get it u-"

"_Ingrid!_" Vlad snatched the notebook from his sister's hands. "Myra is a _baby_. You're supposed to be reading her stories about," he flung his arms wide in exasperation, "bunnies, rainbows, kittens, I don't know! _Not_ my sex life. Which, for your information, there is nothing wrong with!"

Ingrid regarded him disinterestedly. "Really? You forget that I can hear _every_ word you two say up there." She smirked and put on a high pitched voice, "But, Vlad, _why_ can't we? I promise you'll like it."

Vlad felt his face flame. This was why he always felt so lethargic, because his body insisted on wasting all the blood he fed it on making him look like an idiot. "Well," he snapped at her, "is it any wonder I don't want to do anything when I know _you're_ eavesdropping?"

Ingrid raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth to berate him further, when an all too familiar voice rang out across the hall.

**xXx**

"The _what?_" Richard Price snickered. Robin did his best to shift away from him; Mrs. Evans had decided Vlad's 'illness' was the perfect excuse to rearrange her seating plan. Now he was stuck with Price next to him and Watson and Davis behind him. Sometimes – specifically times like these – he was forced to admit that Vlad being a vampire wasn't all that great.

Drew Davis squirmed uncomfortably, "The silver ring thing."

"So," Tommo Watson laughed, "'cos she wants to wear this stupid ring, you can't get your end away? I wouldn't stand for that. Even Branagh's getting some action these days, ain't you Branagh?" He scrunched up a page of his Welsh exercise book and threw it at the back of Robin's head.

"Oi, Branagh," Price nudged an elbow into his side, "We're talking to you."

"What!?" Robin glared at all three of them. They'd left him alone for a few weeks but, once they realised Vlad wasn't about to reappear, they'd slid back into their usual ways. Mostly taking the piss out of everything he said and did. "I'm trying to work."

It was true, kind of. He glanced down at his sketchbook; he was working on a picture of Will. Vlad needed something to give Ingrid for her birthday and he, like the pushover he was, had volunteered to draw it. He sighed; maybe Vlad would be so grateful he'd finally consent to them doing something more adventurous than sitting on the edge of his new coffin, holding hands.

"Work." Mrs. Evans voice cut through his thoughts, the overpowering smell of her perfume as she leant over their desk making him wrinkle his nose, "What a novel idea. I suggest you give it a go, Price. Before _I_ give you another detention."

Robin just craned his neck to get a look at the clock. Only another twenty minutes until he could go home.

**xXx**

"_Darlings_."

"Mum." Vlad responded coldly. Ingrid just sniffed and folded her arms across her chest. The two hadn't been on the best terms since his Mum had tried to marry her off to that werewolf.

"I've come to wish you Happy Birthday, darling."

"It was my birthday last _month_." Vlad scowled, "And," he frowned in confusion, "it's still daylight, how are you here?"

Magda waved a hand dismissively, "Didn't your father tell you?"

Vlad looked at Ingrid who just shrugged. Vlad shook his head; he hadn't seen his Dad all day.

"I came last night; I've been catching up on my beauty sleep in the guest crypt. Ingrid, dear," she moved over to Ingrid, laying one manicured hand on her shoulder in a show of mock concern, "you should really think about doing the same."

Ingrid glowered and Vlad started babbling in an attempt to diffuse the situation. "Oh, right, well thanks anyway. It'll be sunset soon, so why don't you just start packing your stuff and I'll see you –"

"Vlad!" The Count appeared in the doorway leading down to the crypt, his cape and hair dishevelled. Vlad pulled a face in understanding. "Your mother is staying with us _indefinitely_. Isn't it wonderful?"

Vlad took in Ingrid's expression from the corner of his eye and swallowed. _Wonderful_ was not at all how he'd describe it.


	2. Chapter 2

**[ A/N: Sacrifices are made. ]**

"Dad! Where are my swimming trunks?"

"Your _what_?" The Count scowled over at him from where he was lounging in his throne, Magda having just disappeared back down into the crypt to 'freshen up'. He stared at Vlad in consideration for a long moment before continuing; "_You_ might fit at a push, but your peasant friend? You'll never get him in a trunk, Vlad. He never stops eating."

Vlad heaved a sigh. "Not that sort of trunk. Shorts – to wear swimming. They were in my gym bag!"

"Yes, well," The Count pushed the charred remains of Vlad's Stokely Grammar kit bag under his chair with one booted toe. Accidents happened. "You should have said so. I have a marvelous bathing suit I picked up at the turn of the century. Never used." He clicked his fingers, "Renfield, fetch!"

"Aw, wicked. Thanks dad –" Vlad looked up at Renfield in horror, eyes lingering on the shapeless striped jumpsuit he was holding out, "For trying to make me the laughing stock of Stokely!"

"This," The Count swept up from his throne and took the swimwear from Renfield, "Will look very fetching on you Vlad, the height of fashion."

"Yeah," Vlad scowled, "If we were living in 1900. I'm not wearing it." The door bell echoed around the hall. "Oh, great, and now Robin's here."

Vlad shook his head and shoved his towel and goggles into his backpack angrily. This was going to be the first time he'd seen Robin all week; the Council were going mad at the moment - something about werewolves in Azerbaijan - and wanted him there from dusk til dawn, five nights a week. Was it _too_ much to ask, when he finally got to spend time with his boyfriend, that he not have to look like he'd just escaped from a cartoon prison?

Renfield was making his way over to the door and Vlad sighed, grabbing the swimsuit and shoving it in before zipping the bag shut. He hoped Robin appreciated all the sacrifices he made for him.

xXx

"Oh. My. God."

Kelsey followed Delila's gaze across the swimming pool to see Vlad Count wearing some sort of knitted all-in-one. Robin was trailing behind him probably, she thought bitterly, because he was embarrassed to be seen with the weirdo.

"You think _that's_ bad." Trish smirked, "wait 'til you hear this. You know my cousin, Natalie?" Kelsey and Delila nodded; they'd met her a couple of times. "Well she's going out with Branagh's brother. He says that Count won't let him do _anything_."

"What? Not even?" Delila made a motion with her hand.

"_Nothing_ at all. Do you reckon he's been taking tips from Stacey?" Trish giggled, "They probably meet up once a week to compare notes." She put on a passable imitation of Vlad's accent, "Forgive me Father for I have sinned; I touched his shoulder and got so excited I just couldn't _control_ myself!"

Delila snorted. Kelsey smiled and glanced across at Count where he was leaning against the edge of the pool, waiting for Robin to finish on the water slide. She grinned wider, noticing the way Count blushed. If he wanted to listen in, she'd give him something to listen to.

"She's such an idiot," Kelsey spoke as clearly as possible, pitching her voice slightly louder than usual, "as if any guy would stick around if there was nothing in it for him."

Delila nodded in agreement, "Exactly. He's only going to look somewhere else for it."

Vlad made a noise and Kelsey smirked in satisfaction. "What," Trish asked as Vlad heaved himself out of the pool and made for the changing rooms, "is _his_ problem?"

xXx

"Ingrid!" The Count whined, one hand wrapped possessively around Magda's hip. "Don't you have something you could be doing? Scrubbing the floor, dusting the battlements, sharpening yourself a stake?"

Ingrid glared at them. "You're so pathetic. As if she," she motioned her head at her mother, "would really want you back. She's just using you. Again!"

The Count scoffed, "Of course your mother wants to _use_ me. I'm irresistible."

"And I suppose," Ingrid pointed at her mother viciously, "Her reappearance has _nothing_ to do with the fact that Vlad is now the Grand High Vampire?"

"Is he really?" Magda studied one manicured hand, "You know I never read the papers, Ingrid. They're only for vampiresses with nothing better to do."

Ingrid glowered. "Whatever." She heaved her holdall onto her shoulder and scooped Myra up from her highchair, "I'm going to my vampiresses and spawn meeting."

xXx

"Vlad, would you like a biscuit?"

"I'll have one!" Robin called to his mother, not bothering to move from where he was curled up against Vlad's side on the sofa, gaze firmly fixed on _Tales from the Crypt_. He loved it when Ian and Paul had evening rugby training; normally he'd be stuck watching _Britain's Deadliest Car Chases_.

Mr. Branagh tutted from his armchair, "Is your name Vlad? If you want one, go and get it yourself."

Robin pulled a face. "I don't want one that bad."

"Graham," Mrs. Branagh scolded handing out Kit-Kats to all three of them, "Leave him alone, he's worn out." She sat down herself and Robin raised his head to grin at his Dad. "Now, Robin, while you're in; have you thought about what you want to do for your birthday yet?"

"Yeah," he squirmed closer to Vlad, breathing in the smell of shampoo and chlorine – it was a surprisingly hot combination – and looked up at his mother hopefully, "Can Vlad sleep over?"

"I don't know about that." Mr. Branagh answered for her, shaking his head.

"Why!? Vlad's slept over loads of times before!"

"Yes, but that was different." Mr. Branagh squirmed uncomfortably, "That was before you two were, well," He waved a hand agitatedly, "_you know_."

"What your father's trying to say," Mrs. Branagh said placatingly, "Is that it wouldn't be proper. You know Ian and Paul aren't allowed girls to stay over either."

Robin pulled a face. "That _would_ be disgusting though, they share a room!" He sat up properly, feeling himself sinking into a bad mood. He'd been planning this, in his head, for days. It would be perfect; Vlad would have no excuse – nobody would be able to hear them, they'd both be sixteen, and, he grinned, he had the unread copy of 'An A-Z of Vampiric Intercourse for the Curious Adolescent' he'd found in Vlad's bedroom. No, Vlad would not be able to resist him. _So long_ as they were actually in the same room. Robin considered his options quickly.

"It wouldn't," he started carefully, "be like that. Me and Vlad," he took Vlad's hand in his own, "are waiting until we're older." He quoted Vlad directly, "Until we're sure we love each other." He could see Vlad beaming at him from the corner of his eye, whatever his earlier frostiness had been about forgotten, and he squirmed; he hated feeling guilty. Still, he knew from experience, it would pass soon enough.

Mr. Branagh gave him an appraising look. "Alright." Robin grinned and squeezed Vlad's hand. "Providing," his father went on ominously, "You prove that you can be trusted. That you're responsible and mature enough to be treated like an adult."

Robin's face fell. "What do I 'ave to do?"

Mr. Branagh smiled. "It's half term next week. As you know, I've been looking for volunteers to help with the Scout trip to Bangor."

Robin pulled a face. Was it really worth it? Four days away with his dad's scouting troop; four days of knot tying and hiking and _singing_. He glanced at Vlad, at their joined hands and the way Vlad's hair was curling against his cheek. He turned back to his father,

"I'm not wearing the stupid uniform though."


	3. Chapter 3

**[ A/N: Robin gets his first taste of scouting. Mr. Branagh reveals his eclectic taste in music. ]**

"Come on, Robin. Get your uniform on."

Robin winced as light flooded the room. "What time is it?" His voice sounded scratchy; it felt like he'd only shut his eyes five minutes ago.

Mr. Branagh bounced on the balls of his feet, straightening his neckerchief in the mirror on Robin's wardrobe door. "Half past six. I've been up since five."

Groaning, Robin just buried his head back under the duvet.

**xXx**

"Some of these kids don't even care about scouting." Stevo shook his head as the crowd of boys in scout uniform huddled around the coach grew larger. "What's the point in coming, like?"

Tommo Watson nodded, taking another drag on his cigarette. He privately thought Stevo took the whole thing far too seriously. If they were anything like him they just wanted to get away from the shithole that was Stokely for a few days.

"Morning Scouts!" Mr. Branagh called brightly and Tommo hurriedly dropped his fag and ground it into the path with his foot. Mr. Branagh came to a halt at the head of the group, his son hovering anxiously at his left elbow. Robin, he thought, looked a right pillock in, what was obviously, a borrowed uniform. And his neckerchief was all skewiff round the back of his neck.

"I'd like to say a special thanks to you older boys who've agreed to come along and help out. That's the scouting spirit."

Robin pulled a face and Tommo couldn't help feeling a twinge of empathy. Having known Branagh since infant school he could tell this was _not_ the sort of thing the other boy would have volunteered for. Mr. Branagh rubbed his hands together obliviously.

"Right then, boys. Who can tell me the first rule of scouting?"

"Be prepared!" The scouts chanted back dutifully.

"And the second rule of scouting?"

There was a lot of muttering. The second rule of scouting seemed to change from meeting to meeting. In Tommo's memory it had been everything from not punching Michael Gregson from blue division in the face, to always saying please and thank you. Mr. Branagh answered for them,

"Making new friends! That's why I've drawn up this buddy plan for the trip – so you can all make friends with someone new! Now," He looked down at the clipboard and then back up, making eye contact with Tommo, "First pair. Tommo Watson and," He smiled first at Tommo, then at his son, "Robin Branagh."

Tommo sighed. It was going to be a _long_ four days.

**xXx**

"They'll be halfway there now." Vlad said.

"Not if they've slammed into the side of a cliff."

Vlad scowled at his sister. "Thanks for that Ingrid."

Ingrid smiled sweetly. "You don't need to thank me Vlad, you know that." She paused to feed Myra another spoonful of something – Vlad dreaded to think what – Renfield had spent all morning turning to baby mush. "Everyone enjoyed my little story the other night by the way. Must be so comforting for them all to know the Grand High Vampire can't even take a breather when they get down on their knees and beg."

He counted to ten in his head. Just because Ingrid and Will had waited all of about three nanoseconds before getting down to it, didn't mean he and Robin had to. He wanted to wait until they both felt ready; until he felt sure he wouldn't lose control and try to bite Robin. Until, Vlad reluctantly admitted to himself, he felt sure his lack of previous experience wouldn't mean Robin would be making unfavourable comparisons between him and Kelsey. He knew Robin found it frustrating that they hadn't even gone further than kissing but, Vlad smiled to himself, Robin _did_ understand. He had even agreed to go scouting to prove it to him.

The Count took that moment to actually pay them some attention for the first time since his Mum had turned up on their doorstep. "Is this true Vlad?" He moved instantly from his throne to lean over him, hands on Vlad's shoulders. "A vampire your age ought to be out ravishing as many breathers as he can." The Count went a little misty eyed, "When I was your age –"

Vlad cut in, "Dad, I really don't want to know!"

Magda swept across the room. "Darling," she laid a hand on Vlad's shoulder, "what you need is a vampiress." Vlad grimaced. She'd only been there days and he was sick of hearing it already. He didn't care how many problems could be solved by marrying Minister. Tschetter's daughter. It wasn't going to happen. Magda continued, "Breathers _break_ so easily."

Ingrid stood, miming staking their mother behind her back before picking Myra up. Vlad bit back his smirk; with Ingrid on his side he was sure he had nothing to worry about.

**xXx**

"We're supposed to be 'alfway there by now." Stevo was leaning over the seats in front, whinging to Tommo. Robin jabbed viciously at his Ipod again. It still refused to switch on, his own fault for trusting his Mam to have charged it for him. He looked out of the window; they _should_ be halfway there. The long winding line of halted traffic meant they were, in fact, nowhere near.

He could still hardly believe he was actually on his way to a scout gathering at all. He'd spent the entire weekend changing his mind roughly every thirty seconds as to how much getting Vlad alone in his room would really be worth it. Then yesterday he had gone round Vlad's for a couple of hours before Vlad had to leave for Council.

Vlad who, lately at least, always looked like he might fall asleep at any given moment had still been in his coffin when he got there. He'd ended up clambering in with him. They had lain together, Vlad curled up close against his chest, cold fingers trailing goosebumps across the skin of his stomach. By the time Vlad had _finally_ kissed him he'd been shivering all over – and not from cold.

Robin squirmed awkwardly to try and hide what the memory was doing to him, all too aware of the fact he was sat next to Tommo 'I'll bash your face in if you even look at me again' Watson. He needed to stop thinking about Vlad. About the way Vlad smelt, and the way he'd bucked convulsively against him that time they'd been making out in Robin's bedroom, their hips grinding together as Vlad had raised dark bruises along the side of his neck. He sighed in frustration. No, he was certain; he'd do just about anything to have Vlad stretched out in his bed.

His Dad's voice rang out from the front of the coach, finally dragging his thoughts away from Vlad. "It looks like we'll be a little bit late getting there boys." Robin scoffed and shook his head: only a little? "So, to cheer us all up, I thought we could all have a singsong." He cleared his throat and started up,

"_Didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor? A beautiful day, we had lunch on the way, and all for under a pound_ – Come on Robin! You know the words!"

Tommo turned to look at him expectantly and Robin gave him a pleading look. "Shoot me now."

**xXx**

Mr. Branagh breathed the fresh air in deeply, smiling as he surveyed the eager faces of the boys as they finished putting their tents up.

"Well done, Kieran! That's perfect."

"You've improved so much Ryan."

"Darren I don't think I've ever seen a scout put a tent up faster!"

He came to a tent that was leaning precariously to one side, no sign of its would be occupants. A voice suddenly rang out from within the canvas. "For fuck's sake Branagh, hold it steady!"

A second quickly joined it, "I'm trying!"

"And stop touching me!"

"I'm not – aw _fuck!_"

The tent collapsed and for the next few moments there was nothing but the sound of swearing filling the air as Robin and Tommo struggled to crawl out of it. The other scouts started to gather round, curious as to the commotion. Mr. Branagh waited for them to free themselves with growing impatience. The real reason he'd wanted Robin on this trip was to try and get him to socialise a little more, maybe even make a friend or two. Ever since Vlad had had to drop out of school he got the impression that Robin was having to spend the vast majority of his time alone. And it broke his heart to see it.

It did not, however, excuse him.

"You're supposed to be setting an example to the younger boys." He said once they were both on their feet, "Not turning the air blue!" Both boys looked sheepish, gazes fixed on the ground, and he sighed. He never had been able to stay angry at Robin. "Come on, leave it for now, we'll sort it out after the briefing."

Minutes later all the scouts were lined up in front of him. He paused for a moment, thinking of how best to put what he had to say. "There are a few ground rules I want to lay down. Number one, _no_ swearing. Are we clear?" A chorus of 'yes, sir' came from the boys. Robin and Tommo shared an embarrassed smirk and his mood lifted; Robin _would_ make friends here.

"Number two, no wandering over to the guide camp. Not even to speak to them." He pointed over to the other end of the field where a large group of girls were busy with their own tents. "I don't want to have Mrs. Jones complaining to me about randy scouts bothering her girls."

"That ain't fair!" One of the boys protested. "We're not allowed to speak to the girls 'cos we might fancy them? He," he motioned at Robin who was standing a few spaces down, "might fancy one of us, but we've got to put up with it."

Stevo nodded slowly, "Brandon has got a point, Sir."

Robin wrenched his neckerchief off and threw it to the ground, storming off in the direction of the woods. Mr. Branagh blinked in shock, that was the last thing he had seen coming. Tommo stooped and picked it up, glaring at Stevo. "Just cos you _want_ him to fancy you." He followed Robin and Mr. Branagh smiled at his retreating back in pride - a scout always fights intolerance - before concentrating on regaining control of a troop of wildly chattering scouts.

**xXx**

Robin swiped angrily at his eyes as he heard someone approaching. It would be his Dad, no doubt wanting to have a go about how 'sensible' and 'mature' people just turned the other cheek and didn't storm off in a strop. He was shocked then to see Tommo sitting down next to him, holding out his neckerchief. Robin took it and nervously fidgeted with it. Tommo would think he was completely pathetic now. He thought of what Price would say when he told him and shuddered.

Tommo rooted around in his pockets for a moment before taking out a lighter and a couple of misshapen cigarettes. He offered one and Robin shook his head mutely. Tommo nodded in understanding, lighting one and taking a deep drag. "You've got the right idea, not smoking. It's too fucking hard to give it up."

Not knowing what to say in response, Robin focussed on putting his neckerchief back on.

"Look, Robin, I know scouts ain't the best but your Dad, right," Tommo glanced at him quickly - if it had been anyone other than Tommo Watson Robin would have said anxiously - before looking out into the middle distance, "he's the only one who ever thought I could do anything. Last time I got arrested, yeah, if he hadn't spoken for me in court I'd have ended up in juvy. So,"

There was a long pause and Robin watched him curiously, uncertain why Tommo Watson would have trusted him enough to tell him something like that. Finally Tommo stubbed the cigarette out and met his gaze,

"So, if he thinks we'll get on, then," he flashed him a small smile, "I'm willing to give it a try." He grinned wider, "Just tell your boyfriend not to bite me again, yeah? You must be fucking _terrified_ every time he comes near you."

Robin snorted in shocked laughter and Tommo grinned in return. "Come on, let's get back to camp. They're a right bunch of fat bastards, there'll be nothing left if we're not quick."

Maybe, Robin thought as he followed, this trip wouldn't be so bad.


	4. Chapter 4

**[ A/N: Robin's making friends. But Vlad feels all alone. ]**

"Does he want me for more than my body?"

Vlad cringed and hurriedly hid the magazine under the day's itinerary and Minister. Balcescu's report on underage biting. Why couldn't anyone sneak up on him when he was busy with Council work?

Varn chuckled and sat down next to him. "I didn't think it mattered at your age!" He leaned in closer, "Vlad, I don't want to intrude - you know I never listen to gossip -" Vlad scoffed in disbelief but didn't cut in, "but I hear you've been having a few, shall we say, _difficulties_ in that area."

"Ingrid's a liar!" Vlad protested sharply, hoping the blush he could feel staining his cheeks wouldn't give him away.

"Oh, I didn't mean _that_; although," Varn put a hand on his shoulder, "you don't want to leave it too long. Even breathers can stray." Oblivious to Vlad's scowling he went on, "I meant with your betrothal. I can't imagine her old man will be too understanding. Terrible old fashioned is our Mitica."

"Betrothal?" Vlad shook his head. "What!?"

Varn just frowned at him and unfolded the newspaper he'd been carrying. Vlad took it and skimmed the front page,

_'GHV to make union with daughter of F. Right leader… we can only hope this will put a stay to atrocious policy choices; "Be Polite, Don't Bite" will surely be an embarrassment for decades to come… Dracula's mother, Magda Westenra is overjoyed. "Marcela is everything a mother could wish for her son. Violent, domineering and completely void of empathy, she will make the perfect wife."…'_

Vlad dropped it, fingers shaking. This could _not_ be happening.

**xXx**

"'Ello, 'ello. What's going on 'ere then?"

"Hughsey!"

Robin watched as Tommo and the other boy – his first name was Simon, he remembered it from the morning's register – indulged in some complicated handshaking before they both sat down opposite him. Tommo handed over his cigarette and 'Hughsey' took a deep drag before handing it back.

"Didn't fancy a morning of 'hill climbing an' rambling' then?" Tommo smirked.

"Nah. Said I'd 'elp out with you two. Stevo's gone though." He turned to Robin, scarcely pausing for breath, "You was knocking about with Rich's ex-missus, weren't you? Seen it on YouTube!"

Robin cringed and pretended to be concentrating on the washing-up. Was it not enough that everyone at Stokely Grammar had seen his embarrassingly poor performance with Kelsey? Apparently not. All the Tanybryn boys had seen it too, along with just about everyone with access to the internet. Brilliant.

"That was ages ago." Tommo answered for him. "He's seeing Vlad Count now. You remember, bit weird, he did work experience with us."

"Vladdo? No way!"

Robin tipped the last of the water away and started drying, curious as to what they'd have to say. Vlad had been very tight-lipped about work experience, answering all his questions with 'it sucked, alright?' Privately Robin didn't think it could have been any worse than a week unblocking toilets and laying drainage pipe with his dad, but he'd been willing to let it go.

Hughsey just shrugged. "Don't do nothing for me, but each to their own, like." He lounged back against the grass, "Tommo 'ere for example can't go five minutes without pulling some dog from down Ponty!"

Robin raised an eyebrow in question, not sure how much ribbing Tommo would put up with. Never in his entire life had he spent more than five minutes with people who could be considered 'popular' without at least one of them either calling him a freak or trying to break his nose.

"_Fuck off_." Tommo spat and it took Robin a moment to realise he was speaking to Hughsey, not him, "And stop going on about it! If Delila finds out she'll go mad. She's only just forgiven me for last time." Tommo shook his head and then caught Robin's eye. "You don't know how good you've got it. I bet Count don't keep on at you all the time about _being in love_ and _holding hands_ and all that rubbish."

Robin scoffed, his cautiousness giving way to incredulity, "You 'ave met Vlad?"

Tommo laughed, nudging Hughsey with his elbow, "See, I told you he was alright."

**xXx**

"Come through to the kitchen." Mrs. Branagh stood aside to let Ingrid through, deciding it best just not to ask why she was carrying an umbrella in the afternoon sunlight. She remembered what it was like when the twins were young; hormones all over the place.

"Ingrid!" Paul jumped up to pull a chair out for her. Ian was up an instant later. Mrs. Branagh shook her head at his hissed 'sit down, you have a girlfriend' and put the kettle on.

"It's lovely to see you. And Myra." Mrs. Branagh grinned at the baby and handed her a digestive, carefully avoiding Myra's fork. She understood from experience how children got attached to the strangest objects. Robin had insisted on carrying a stuffed rabbit everywhere with him until he was gone six.

Ingrid sneered at Ian who had pulled his chair right next to her, staring at her dopily. "I've changed my mind. I want to join."

Mrs. Branagh beamed. "It's a lot of fun, I promise. And you'll meet lots of other young mums too." She had only suggested the mothers group on the off chance; it must be terribly lonely for Ingrid stuck up at the castle all day long, especially with Vlad having to travel away for treatment all the time.

"I don't care." Ingrid snapped a biscuit in half viciously, "So long as _my_ mother isn't there."

**xXx**

"What's all this then?" Mr. Branagh asked, smiling at the sight of Robin actually _joining in_.

"It's called the 'tecktonik', Mr. Branagh." Simon Hughes answered, giving him a quick demonstration. "We do at youthy all the time."

Tommo switched the music back on, he and Simon instructing the small group of boys in front of them how to do it. Mr. Branagh moved back over to the campfire and watched as he supervised dinner. The trip was going better than he could have hoped for; the boys all seemed to be enjoying themselves.

And, he grinned as the sound of laughter rang around the campsite, Robin really did seem to have made friends. He, Tommo and Simon had certainly been snickering together all afternoon. In fact, he'd come back from the morning ramble to find the three of them crowded together in the one tent, heads bent over some magazine he was sure no reputable newsagent would have sold them.

"Do we all 'ave to go to this talk tomorrow?" Brandon asked sullenly as he stirred a saucepan full of baked beans, pulling Mr. Branagh out of his reverie. He knew exactly what Brandon was referring to; item seven on the itinerary – a talk with the Welsh arm of The Silver Ring Thing. It wasn't, as Elizabeth kept accusing, that he was out of touch. He knew exactly what teenage boys got up to; he _had_ been one after all. It was just that it wouldn't do them in general, and Robin in particular, any harm to have a few _alternatives_ pointed out to them. If he could get Robin to limit his pestering of poor Vlad to just 95 percent of the time he spent with him, he'd consider it a success.

Dylan smirked, sticking another sausage onto the grill pan, "It's only cos you 'aven't got a girlfriend for them to tell you not to sleep with."

"Shut up!"

Mr. Branagh smiled indulgently. "_Everyone's_ going. Us in the morning, and the Guides in the afternoon. You never know, you might even enjoy it."

Brandon scowled. "I doubt it."

**xXx**

"Did you really think I wasn't going to find out!?"

"Darling," Magda placed a hand on his shoulder, pouting, "I just want what's best for you."

Vlad shrugged her off, scowling viciously. Council had overran and he'd had to spend the day in the guest crypts, mostly tossing and turning and plotting out what he was going to say. There was _no way_ he was getting married. Not to someone who wasn't Robin at any rate.

"What's best for me," he yelled, barely noticing the way thunder rolled overhead as a result, "is being with the person I love!"

"Don't be ridiculous Vladimir." The Count swung his feet down from the side of his coffin. "You will love Marcelena."

"No," Vlad pulled at his hair in frustration, "I won't."

"Don't be like that, Vlad." His dad appeared next to him, leaning against the edge of the table. "You won't have to give the peasant up. You could keep him," he waved a hand dismissively, "like a pet. Think of the fun the three of you could have."

Vlad glowered and concentrated on not losing his temper. Just the _thought _of Robin touching someone else made him want to kill something. Preferably whoever it was on the receiving end of Robin's attention. He was so busy with the breathing techniques he'd learned from the book Chloe had give him for Christmas, that he missed the calculating look on his mother's face.

"I'm not asking you to make a decision now, Vlad. Just that you attend the feast tomorrow evening. To meet her." She steered Vlad into a seat, sitting down next to him and meeting his gaze. She reached out to pet his hair like she had when he was very young. His first thought was to jerk away from her touch but… it felt so comforting. Like all his worries were dissipating. "I only did it because I worry about you. I can tell how much you care for this," there was a pause, "_breather_. But you must understand that they do not _feel_ like us. You will hurt him again and again, without ever meaning to."

Vlad wanted to argue at that, but he felt so drowsy, his limbs too heavy to do anything more than sit there and let his Mum run her fingers through his hair. "I know why you hesitate; because you _know_ that you cannot make him happy. You love him but it's not enough. You can see that, can't you?" Vlad nodded numbly, struggling to keep his eyes open. "You know what you have to do, don't you?"

He did know, he thought as his eyes slid shut. He had to meet Marcelena, or Robin would be hurt. And he'd never hurt Robin.


	5. Chapter 5

**[ Chapter Summary: Realisations... ]**

"Robin?"

Vlad trailed ice cold fingers across the back of his neck, Robin managing little more than a whine in response. He shivered and squirmed as Vlad's lips followed, biting his own lip hard enough to draw blood at the first scrape of fang against his neck. Pressing back against Vlad's chest he arched his head to the side in invitation, heart pounding in anticipation. Sensing Vlad's uncertainty Robin reached for his hand, trying to show the other boy how much he trusted him not to hurt him – how little he'd care even if Vlad did slip up. Vlad _groaned_ and clutched him closer still, giving in and nipping at his skin again and again and _again_ until Robin was sure the bruising would be visible for days.

"_Robin_."

The urgency in the other boy's tone made his head swim and Robin twisted round so he could crush their lips together, his hands gripping at Vlad's hips even as Vlad wound his arms round the back of his neck. Robin could hardly believe his luck as Vlad bit sharply at his lip before burying his head back in the crook of his neck, sucking desperately at his pulse point, their bodies pressed so tight together he could _feel _how much Vlad was enjoying himself.

"_**Robin!**_"

"_Vlad_."

"Is about 200 miles away. _Wake up_!"

A pillow made contact with his head and Robin cursed, embarrassment and frustration warring for precedence. He should have known; as if Vlad would have instigated anything like_ that_. Necks and Vampires were made to go together, like horses and carriages. But Vlad, as usual, seemed determined to buck the trend, and would make them both stop as soon as things started to get interesting. The one time he hadn't, excluding the whole going a bit mad and trying to kill Richard Price incident, he had worried the same spot until the skin broke and there was blood smeared all across the collar of his rugby shirt.

Reluctantly he pushed himself into a sitting position, carefully arranging his sleeping bag to hide what the memory of Vlad losing control had the power to do to him. At least if Vlad's fears were true, and the biting actually did hurt instead of just reducing him to an incoherent wreck, he wouldn't spend his entire life trying to think of _anything_ other than the feel of Vlad's mouth on his neck.

"Good dream, was it?" Tommo – somehow already washed and dressed – smirked at him.

'Might 'ave been. I'll never know now, will I?' Robin thought bitterly and glared at Tommo, swiping his hand across the back of his neck. His fingers came back wet and he glared up at the canvas roof of the tent instead. The splash of rain onto his forehead did nothing at all for his mood. It made him think of the way Vlad had _sobbed_ at the sight of his blood and promised he'd never do it again, as if he hadn't literally begged Vlad to do it in the first place. He sighed and started getting changed; nothing put a dampener on a morning like the thought of Vlad being upset.

"Come on." Tommo said, smirk still plastered across his face, and chucked him his shirt from the corner of the tent, "Let's go and get this talk over with."

**xXx**

"Sex is pretty cool, isn't it? Isn't sex brilliant?"

Tommo shared a look with Hughsey. Sex was good, you couldn't argue with that, but the guy stood in front of them, well… he couldn't imagine anybody had ever wanted to get close enough for him to know about it firsthand. Glancing around it seemed that everyone else was equally as confused.

"It is! But only," 'Brad', the speaker, made eye contact with him and Tommo glowered back instinctively, "in the context of marriage. Yeah?" Again the only response was silence; Tommo wondered how long it would take before Brad gave up and just got on with the next part. He didn't have to wait long.

"Right, well," Brad rubbed his hands together, "what I want you to do now is split up into groups and think about why it's better to wait until you're married. Like, what advantages does it have? Then, in a bit, we'll all come back together and talk about what we've found. Okay!"

"Okay," Hughsey imitated as he shifted his chair round to face them, "this is proper shit. Drew wasn't lying!" He turned to Robin, "What _was_ your dad thinking?"

Robin shrugged, rubbing blearily at his eyes and stifling a yawn. "He's obsessed. If Vlad's round he's in my room every two minutes, making sure we're not doing anything."

Stevo nudged him, "Sounds like your missus' dad."

Tommo grimaced and elaborated for Robin, "Delila's dad is scary as _fuck_. Seriously. This one time I thought he was actually going to cut my hand off!"

"Just think," Hughsey grinned at him, "He'll be family soon. You heard what the bloke said; marriage is the only way to go."

"No way!" Tommo shook his head and slouched back into the uncomfortable plastic seat. "Not in a million years." He liked Delila and everything, but he didn't like her that much. The thought of being stuck with her _forever_ made him feel ill. Noticing the way Robin was checking his phone – again – in the hope Count had got in touch, he let his curiosity get the better of him, "'Ow about you and Count then?" Unable to think of a better way to put it, he went on, "Do you think you'll get married an' that?"

Robin shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny but answered, frowning as if it needed serious thought. "Never really thought about it but, I suppose so, yeah." He nodded and looked back down at his phone, at the background picture of him and Vlad they'd already given him a good ribbing for, and smiled. "I don't want to be with anyone else."

"Rob," Hughsey shook his head, "If you weren't already this would be really insulting, but that was so gay."

"_So_ gay." Stevo agreed.

Robin just grinned.

"Are we thinking about reasons we might wait for marriage?" Brad's voice carried across the room.

"Come on then, Rob, you're the only virgin 'ere. Why should we 'ave waited?" Hughsey said, wiping the grin off Robin's face. Before he could answer Brad was yelling for them all to go back to their seats.

Tommo nudged Robin with his elbow, keeping one wary eye on the flipchart Brad had brought along. "Bet you're glad Vladdo ain't 'ere now, aren't you? You wouldn't get any 'til you were both _ancient_."

Robin folded his arms across his chest, scowling at the phone in his lap which still hadn't gone off, "Doubt it'd make that much difference.

Stevo snorted on the other side of him and Tommo shook his head. Who'd have thought that _Robin Branagh_ could be good company?

**xXx**

"Well, what did you think of the talk?" Mr. Branagh dropped down next to Robin, careful not to slop any of his tea anywhere. Robin scowled and shrugged in the same infuriating manner he seemed to have mastered in nursery school. "The bit about boundaries was interesting, didn't you think?" Mr. Branagh ploughed on, "Have you had a talk like that with Vlad yet?"

"_Dad!_" Robin hissed, glancing about warily to check nobody was listening. "Stop being so embarrassing!" He turned his attention back to his phone, obviously not seeing what he wanted to as he jabbed at it viciously and shoved it back in his pocket.

Mr. Branagh guessed Vlad had had better things to do than spend all day texting Robin. Paul was exactly the same, checking up on that poor girl he was seeing every ten minutes. He didn't know where they got the jealousy from; he didn't think he was like that with Elizabeth. Taking a sip of his tea he said, "Vlad's probably been busy."

"It'd take him _two minutes_." Robin snapped, getting up and storming off in the direction of the tents, pausing only to dump his plate onto the washing-up pile. Mr. Branagh sighed. Robin would grow out of his surlishness one day. He hoped.

**xXx**

"_What_ are you doing?"

Vlad turned to see Ingrid stood in his bedroom doorway, her customary sneer twisting her face as she looked him up and down.

"Getting ready for this stupid feast." Vlad ground out, wishing his reflection hadn't had to disappear. He was sure his hair was a mess, he could _feel_ it. He supposed he could ask Ingrid, but she'd only lie about it.

"I can see that." Ingrid strode across his room, rifling through the junk on his dresser with the same put-upon air as if he'd asked her to do it. "What I don't understand is why you're making all this effort." Vlad stared at her in confusion; he couldn't just turn up in his jeans and T-shirt, could he? Ingrid shook her head and scowled harder, "If you make an effort," she spoke slowly, over enunciating every word, "then Marcela will like you. And if Marcela likes you, you will have to marry her."

Vlad frowned. The logic was obvious; he just didn't understand what Ingrid's point was. "Hello!" Ingrid snapped her fingers in front of his face, "Anyone in there? If you marry Marcela, then it's all over between you and breather-boy."

He dropped the cape he'd been attempting to fasten in shock. Ingrid was right; _what_ was he doing? Why had he not realised sooner? His mind wandered to the previous evening and his mother's pep-talk, everything quickly clicking into place. She'd been trying to trick him into losing Robin.

He heard the boom of Minister. Tschetter's voice from downstairs and cringed. They were already there. Swallowing his pride he met his sister's gaze in panic, "Ingrid, you _have_ to help me!"


	6. Chapter 6

**[ ****I'm**** gonna put this message on everything I post for the next fortnight or so: I'm doing a Robin/Vlad essay type thing for ship_manifesto over at LJ – all in the hope of drumming up some fandom interest. I've asked on LJ, but it's pretty dead there, so I'll ask here too. Why do you like the pairing? Which canon moment got you hooked? What do you like / dislike about fandom? Are there any particular fics / art / fanvids you'd recommend to someone new to the pairing? Etc, etc, etc. Anything else you'd like to say about it? Anything at all? Send me a message, comment here, comment over at my LJ, e-mail me… whatever. I'm really curious and it'd be cool to have more to incorporate than just my own opinions. ]**

"I don't _have _to do anything." Ingrid responded coldly. "Why would I want to help you?"

"Because you're my sister?" Vlad tried, hopefully.

"I still wish you were dust."

"Thanks for that, Ingrid," Vlad scowled at her. "Look, I'll," he paused, trying to think up something suitably enticing, "let you have my bedroom! You always wanted it."

"When I was _fourteen_," Ingrid pulled a face in disgust. "I have my own crypt."

"I can pay you," Vlad said, voice tinged with desperation.

"I don't need your money," Ingrid sighed, turning to leave. "Some of us have the good sense to study inheritance law."

Vlad pulled a face. Great Aunt Felicyta's ill-timed decision to get some fresh air should have been fortuitous for _him_. Deciding that now really wasn't the time to argue the point he started hauling stuff out of his trunk frantically.

"Wait, Ingrid!" He panted, dropping armfuls of clothing and books onto the floor. "Just wait one minute!" Finally he grasped hold of what he was searching for, hidden at the bottom. Triumphantly he handed it out to Ingrid who took it, after a long moment's hesitation, with a look of disdain.

"If you really think one of Branagh's pathetic attempts at art is going to change my mind then –" She trailed off, expression softening as she realised what the picture was of. Vlad felt something inside him twist as she traced a reverent finger across Will's graphite cheek.

"I know it doesn't matter to _you_, but," Vlad met her gaze, trying to impress how serious he was, "Robin means everything to me. I don't care that he's a breather, I _love_ him. And you're the only one who understands that. Please help me, Ingrid."

Vlad waited anxiously for Ingrid's decision. She glanced up at him, then back to the likeness of Will. "If I do help, it's not for you, alright?" She started cautiously. "It's just to get that cow out of the castle."

He nodded. "Of course." Glancing at his wristwatch – they'd be here in minutes – he went on, "What should I do?"

"Hmm?" Ingrid looked up at him again and her expression changed, seemingly pulling herself together. "Well you can get changed for a start. Have you got something of Branagh's? That'll make you look like a total loser. Not that you need any help."

Vlad grinned. Marcela didn't stand a chance.

**xXx**

"Did you hear that?"

"What?" Robin groaned, trying to squirm into a less uncomfortable position.

"_That_," Tommo hissed.

Robin strained his ears, his breathing sounding suddenly deafening in the darkness of the tent. Then there was another noise. It sounded like footsteps outside the tent, then like fingernails against the canvas.

"What is it!?" Tommo demanded, scrabbling for his mobile phone, or so Robin assumed.

His own heart was pounding in his chest, the sound of whispering from outside clearly audible now. It was late, really late, he knew. Who would be trying to get into their tent?

The sound of the tent zip being undone seemed to echo in the darkness and he had to fight the urge to bury his head in his sleeping bag until it went away. He _hated_ camping.

**xXx**

"We shall live in Transylvania, of course," Marcela said, taking a solitary mouthful of the meal Renfield had spent all day preparing before laying the fork down and pushing the plate away.

"I don't want to live in Transylvania," Vlad said sullenly before remembering Ingrid's advice. He plastered a huge smile on his face, "Transylvania's so… dreary. All that history and_ tradition_. I hate that sort of thing. Did you know Stokely has a bowling alley?"

Marcela looked at him in disgust. "Stockly," she mispronounced, whether intentionally Vlad couldn't tell, "is a place of no significance. I can see I shall have my work cut out with you." She smiled sweetly at her father, Minister Tschetter, before fixing Vlad with a look that made him want to look away, "I do so enjoy a challenge."

"You do realise, I suppose," Ingrid cut in, "that you will be subservient to a _breather _if you marry Vlad."

"Really," Marcela said incredulously, "you cannot expect me to believe the _Grand High Vampire_ would remain loyal to something so pathetic." Magda raised an eyebrow whilst the Count nodded approvingly.

"That's what I keep telling him. Get it in your system; Bite him and get it over with." He smirked at Vlad, "We all know you're not using him for anything else."

Vlad clenched his fingernails into his palm, but kept quiet. He wouldn't rise to it. "I'm not going to bite Robin."

"Problem solved then," Marcela responded, a sly smile playing at her thin lips, "he'll be dead before long anyway." The smile widened into a smirk; Vlad decided he really didn't like her. "Relatively speaking, of course."

**xXx**

Robin's every muscle was tense as the intruder started on the inner zipper. Tommo had shuffled closer to the entrance, to do what Robin was sure he didn't know. Try and garrotte them with his neckerchief? He was debating whether or not to yell for help when a voice broke the silence.

"Shhh. It's us. We're with girls."

"Hughsey," Tommo hissed back, "you scared us to bloody death!"

Hughsey grinned at them, expression visible in the moonlight now streaming in. "That's cos you're a right pair of girls." Somebody – Robin supposed it must be one of the girls – thumped him on the shoulder in retaliation. "Alright, keep your hair on!" He called out, giggling. "Come on, hurry up."

Tommo started pulling his shoes on. "Come on, Branagh."

"Where are we going?"

"I dunno." Tommo shrugged, unrolling the sweatshirt he'd been using as a pillow.

"It'll be a laugh," Hughsey reassured.

Robin hesitated a moment before reaching for his own shoes. Who knew, it might well be.

**xXx**

"He's having a great time, Elizabeth." Mr. Branagh said into his handset, settling down into his sleeping bag. "Making lots of new friends. I told you he would."

"I can't help but worry about him," Mrs. Branagh's voice crackled down the line. "He gets into enough trouble as it is."

"Don't you worry," Mr. Branagh said confidently, "I'm watching them all like a hawk. There'll be no messing about under _my_ supervision."

**xXx**

"Good stuff this," Hughsey said appreciatively as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Where'd you get it from?"

"My brother," giggled a girl with long blonde hair. She reminded Robin a little of Kelsey. It was discon- something or other. His brain seemed slow, incapable of coming up with the right word.

"Your turn, Rob," Hughsey said, holding the spliff out to him.

"I don't think I should." Robin eyed it up suspiciously, his limbs feeling heavy as he forced himself to sit upright. For a start his dad would kill him.

"Don't be such a wimp," a girl with red hair pulled back into a plait insisted, "Nobody's going to know."

"It's only a joint," Tommo said dismissively, swigging at the bottle he'd already been persuaded to drink from.

"Fine," Robin sighed and took it, breathing in cautiously. An acrid taste seemed to settle in the back of his throat and he coughed, smoke streaming into the cold night air.

The others burst into giggles. The blonde, Chantal he remembered now, took it from him, still laughing. "You'll get better at it."

"Will I?" Robin asked bitterly, swiping at his streaming eyes. He could have choked to death.

"Course you will," Hughsey grinned dopily at him, "We're here to teach you."

Even through the growing haze in his mind Robin felt certain that that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

**xXx**

"Well, that's settled then."

"No," Vlad glared at his mother, "it's not. I'm not marrying her. I'm not going to dinner with her. I'm not even speaking to her."

"Vlad, darling," Magda started, patting at his shoulder, "It's not binding. It's like a trial period, just to see if you get on."

"We don't get on!" Vlad protested, the memory of Marcela's constant barbed comments about Robin making him want to set something on fire. Marcela, perhaps.

"You don't know that Vlad. You barely had time to make each other's acquaintance." With that she swept from the room, the Count following, pausing only to wink lecherously as if what he were about to do with her some big secret. Vlad pulled a face in disgust.

"That went well," Ingrid observed calmly, Myra gurgling happily in her lap.

"_You_ were supposed to be helping me!" Vlad whined, voice rising.

"I tried," Ingrid snapped.

"What am I going to tell Robin?" Vlad asked, looking defeated as he slumped into a chair opposite Ingrid.

"Stop drivelling," Ingrid sneered. "You heard what she said, it's not binding. Why don't you just grow a spine and tell her, once and for all, that you're not going to go through with it?"

Vlad shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like confrontation.

Ingrid shook her head and rose to her feet, shifting Myra to her hip. She sighed. "Or, just leave it to me to sort out like everything else."

"Thanks Ingrid," he said sincerely, smiling up at her.

She scowled back at him, "Turn to dust."

**xXx**

"Vladdo is so weird though." Hughsey giggled, sprawling back against Chantal, "Like, proper weird."

"He's not," Robin pouted in response, wondering why he couldn't get his hand to co-operate enough to get his mobile phone from his pocket. "He's really cool."

"His sister's fit," Tommo conceded, draining the dregs of the bottle.

"Ingrid's scary," Robin said, frowning. "Vlad's much nicer. He doesn't want to smash my kneecaps. And he smells nice. _All_ the time." He smiled at the thought and wondered what Vlad was doing.

"Wow, what a keeper," giggled Chantal's friend. "Are we going to this castle or what then?"

"You'll be scared," Stevo said, lowering his voice in a way he clearly thought terrifying, "going down into the dark, creepy dungeons."

"Yeah, right," Chantal scoffed. "You're the ones who are scared. We dared you to go down there half hour ago, but, er, we're all still sat here."

"I'll do it," Robin offered, pulling himself, with difficulty, to his feet. "I'm not scared."

"Vlad won't be there to hold your hand now, mind," Hughsey laughed, clambering to his own feet.

"You're just chicken," Robin slurred, grinning at the mock horror on Hughsey's face at the suggestion.

"Come on, then," Chantal insisted, leading the way towards the castle, an excursion to which Mr. Branagh had planned as the highlight of their trip. The others followed, unsteadily. "Let's see what you're made of."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Finally got round to typing up the last part of this. Only took me two years… Will fix it all up and post it on my journal sometime this week._**

* * *

There wasn't an awful lot left of the castle, and the path towards it was dark and overgrown. The others were hanging back a little and Robin smirked to himself. He'd show them who was chicken.

The moon disappeared behind the clouds as they got closer, and the girls – and Stevo – started having vocal second thoughts about it. Tommo, who Robin supposed had spent years fighting to stay on top of the dogpile, was having none of it.

"A scout always comes prepared," he said, unclipping a pen torch from his belt, and winking over at Chantal, just in case she missed the potential double meaning. She rolled her eyes and Robin led the way to the railings that were meant to keep undesirables out of what remained of the dungeons.

"I, er, think I'll wait here," Stevo said, "with the girls, like."

Tommo flapped his arms, making chicken noises, and Hughsey giggled.

Robin just shrugged, enjoying the moment of glory. He'd been down creepy, dank dungeons more times than Stevo had had a hot dinner.

It was a disappointment anyway, once he'd made it down the stairs – his balance not being quite what it could be. There was nothing but empty crisp packets and rusting coke cans, and the whole space stank of urine. The girls, who had left Stevo outside, seemed similarly let down by the experience, though Chantal's friend smiled at him like she hadn't before, and Robin couldn't help but feel proud of himself.

This was probably why Ian and Paul were always so gormlessly happy, he thought randomly. Because, through some miracle, they were popular. Everybody liked them. He wasn't about to admit it on FaceSpace or anything, but it was actually a pretty nice feeling.

"That was rubbish," Chantal said, once they were back in the open air and the bottle was being passed around again. "Wasn't even scary."

"We're just too hardcore," Tommo said, grinning.

"I know," Chantal cut in, before he could really get going, "I dare one of you to climb the tower."

"Nah," Hughsey shook his head. "I don't do heights, innit."

"I'll do it," Robin said, before he had time to really think about it. "It's nothing."

"Don't be stupid," Hughsey protested. "If the wall doesn't give way you'll slip and break your neck anyway."

"I've climbed castle walls loads of times." They didn't need to know that it had only been the once, or that he had had climbing equipment, or even that Vlad had been on hand to haul him over the window ledge.

And, so, a couple of minutes later, the rest of the group were gathered around in a semi circle, watching as he tried to secure a good handhold. It didn't feel like such a great idea now that he'd started, because the stone was slippery, and his palms were sweating, but he wasn't about to turn back, no matter what happened.

He concentrated on taking it slowly, inch by inch, and after he'd made the mistake of looking down the first time, he kept his gaze on the sky and the tower turrets. He was getting close, almost there, and he could hear the others cheering from below, spurring him on.

The fingers of one hand curled around the ledge, and he shut his eyes in relief, the thumping of his heart calmed a little. He was there. He was safe. He'd done it. His second hand joined it and he heaved, desperate to get up and over, when he made the mistake of looking _up_.

Straight into an unnaturally pale face.

* * *

Vlad lay in his coffin, turning the problem over and over in his head. Marcela was still downstairs in the guest crypt, and his mother was no doubt down there with her, plotting and scheming.

He twisted and turned, wrapping his shroud still more tightly around him. He hadn't asked to be the Chosen One, hadn't wanted to be the Grand High Vampire. It didn't seem to matter what he did, or how many sacrifices he made.

It was never enough.

He sighed and gave up trying to sleep as a bad cause. It was still dark outside anyway, so he pushed the coffin lid back and untangled himself from the blankets. It wouldn't hurt to go downstairs to keep an eye on what was happening.

* * *

Chantal screamed, her friend screamed louder, and Hughsey's face went pale as the moon as he clutched at his shoulder and said,

"He's dead. I know it."

Tommo shrugged him off and took a step closer, because it was obvious that nobody else was going to do anything about it. Robin had been there, just about to pull himself over the ledge. He couldn't understand it.

His stomach roiled at the sight in front of him. Robin's leg was broken. Really broken, the bone sticking out through the skin.

Chantal screamed again.

He turned around to tell her to knock it off, to get somebody to ring an ambulance, but they were all too busy staring at something, slack jawed and fearful. Tommo felt it himself then, like the temperature had dipped a few degrees, his muscles tensing. He turned reluctantly, not entirely sure he wanted to look.

A single glance was enough.

"Run!" Someone yelled, and he knew there was no real option but to follow. Robin needed help, but if they stuck around, Tommo got the feeling he was never going to get it.

* * *

As he suspected Marcela and his mother were sat at the dinner table, in conversation with a third figure Vlad recognised as one of the few women involved with Council, Tatiana von Schinnen.

"It should be done by now," Marcela said, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

"What should have been done?" Vlad interrupted, because when his mother was involved with something, it was never good news for him.

None of them flinched, and Marcela smirked at him, a horrid expression that made her pretty features ugly.

"We tried diplomacy," she told him, too calmly. "It seems more direct action is needed."

His stomach twisted, the reflection he worked so hard to keep shackled fighting to let his fangs descend and crowd her back against the wall. To slam his fist against the table and have them all condemned to a fiery death by dawn for conspiracy. Instead he took an unnecessary breath, in and out, and said,

"What have you done?"

The three of them grinned, fangs bared, and Vlad looked instead at the weak dawn sunlight creeping under the shutters. It was von Schinnen who answered in the end, and later he would reflect that it might have been the only thing that kept him from committing matricide,

"We've put an end to your breather problem."

* * *

Robin opened his eyes and immediately wished that he hadn't. The pain was awful, unbearable, and the stench and filth around him wasn't an awful lot better.

He was back in the old castle dungeons, the grey streaks of dawn sky lighting the entrance. He tried to move, to work out what it happened, but the pain was intense, and, when he risked a look at its source he barely had time to turn his head before he retched.

"Your minds are so easy to manipulate," a voice said, explaining how he got here, even as the memories of the events that had got him into this mess flooded back to him. He heard footsteps crunching closer and told himself he was shaking with pain and with shock, not with fear. "If ever there was proof he's unsuitable," the voice muttered, more to itself than to its audience, "to be enthralled by this. Disgusting."

Robin wanted to protest. To say that, actually, he was a brilliant catch, and that Vlad was going to make an awesome Grand High Vampire. He didn't really feel up to it, however, and he didn't think it would do him all that much good, anyway.

"Are you going to kill me or turn me?" He managed, for the first time uncertain which he would prefer. He loved Vlad and that, but he wasn't sure he was quite ready to die for him. The thought of Vlad kicked off an avalanche of other thoughts about Vlad. Like where he was, and what the connection was. The idea of somebody hurting Vlad made him want to be sick again.

The figure laughed, crouching down to touch fingers to his bloodied leg, uncaring of the white hot pain it engendered.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out."

* * *

Vlad paced back and fore, and for once even Ingrid seemed wary. He was in control, but only just, and it was taking a lot of effort. He had never felt like this, even when he had been under the influence and tried to claim Robin in front of a house full of their classmates.

"I don't understand what the problem is," the Count whined, adding to his difficulties.

"_She_," Ingrid answered for him, glaring at their mother, "has had Branagh kidnapped. Some fool will be draining his sugar laden blood as we speak."

"Good for her," the Count said, waving one hand dismissively.

Vlad could feel his fangs descend, the urge to use them, to cause pain and suffering, overwhelming. Ingrid sighed, like she was dealing with a particularly stupid child,

"So she can marry Vlad off to Marcela, and rule the Vampire world through the pair of them."

"Oh," the Count pulled a face. The idea didn't seem all that attractive; he hadn't forgotten the talk of Vampiress Liberation.

"I should have you put to death for this," Vlad said, and he hated the way the words sounded, snarled around his elongated canines.

"Oh, darling," Magda cooed, drawing everyone's attention. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Vlad balled his hands into fists, thunder rolling above their heads, and the rain pounding still harder against the battlements. If they really had Robin he'd – he didn't know what he'd do. Even with the overcast weather there was no way he could flit and not end up a pile of ashes. To travel the breather way would take hours, and they may have already moved him.

It was then that the darkness inside him switched from the never ending demands to hurt and destroy, like a haze lifting, and the way forward seemed suddenly clear. He turned to his father, something in his gaze or his bearing making the Count bite back whatever he had been planning to say.

"Send a message; I want to call full Council. I won't be accepting apologies."

* * *

Mr. Branagh wished he could move faster, even as his lungs registered their disapproval. He wanted it not to be real, to be a nightmare, but he knew his troop inside out. None of them was that good an actor.

Steven had told him the emergency services were on their way but it had barely registered. All that mattered was getting there himself.

For a moment he thought his initial disbelief was vindicated. There was no sign of Robin on the grass beside the castle, no sign of the man whom the children claimed had appeared from nowhere. But then he heard movement, voices, and he had barely squirmed his way around the broken railings before his eyesight had adjusted to the gloom beneath the castle.

It was true, all of it.

The man hissed at him, face contorted, and his heart thudded with fear in addition to exertion. This figure was probably on drugs, and had been drinking, and God only knew what he had been planning to do to Robin.

Robin was so pale he looked lifeless, and even in the dim light Mr. Branagh could see the way his leg was bent unnaturally. There was the scent of blood in the air, and as he tried to get closer the man advanced towards him.

"_Don't_," a voice sounded weakly, and Mr. Branagh felt fit to slump with relief, because Robin was alive, and even facing down a drug addled lunatic no longer seemed quite as terrible, in comparison.

There was the wail of sirens then. The clunk of vehicle doors and voices, and he side stepped quickly, switching their positions so that he was the one closer to Robin. Footsteps sounded outside, approaching, and the man lunged towards him and he pushed back, instinctively. Fear made the movement stronger than it would otherwise have been, and the black clad figure stumbled backwards with the force.

Straight onto the sharp end of a broken spoke of railing.

Mr. Branagh had time to make note of the shocked expression on the man's face, and then it was gone. _He _was gone.

* * *

Tommo arched his head back and squinted up at the castle turret, themiddaysun glaring off it. Robin had been taken to hospital, looking pale and wan and lifeless, and Mr. Branagh had gone with him, leaving them at the mercy of junior Scout leaders and a morning of giving the police their statements.

He _had _seen a creepy looking guy, decked out in leather, it hadn't just been the drink and the blow. He was sure of it.

It was then that he saw something that had been half tramped into the muddy grass – Robin's mobile phone. It must have fallen from his pocket when… Tommo clamped down on that train of thought. The last thing he needed was a reminder of Branagh's shin bone sticking out at completely the wrong angle.

He dislodged it from the earth and made for camp, wondering why the police hadn't found it. Perhaps they just hadn't been looking hard enough.

To his surprise, the thing powered up on the third attempt, and he didn't even feel guilty for going straight for Robin's inbox. Vlad had text him back, finally, and Tommo thought that he should probably let the kid know, as nobody else was likely to have the presence of mind to do so.

* * *

Vlad changed into his best cape for Council, keeping his movements deliberately slow and measured. The tension was getting to him.

Marcela and von Schinnen didn't know, that much he was certain. He had spent all day monitoring them. And, he thought, it was more than likely that any of the other members involved with the plot wouldn't know either, doubtless waiting for the cover of darkness to have someone come to him and make demands, with Robin as the bargaining chip.

He fixed his collar, resisted the urge to fidget as he counted down the minutes until sundown.

_Tommo Watson_ had rung him, like he hadn't once tried to bite a chunk out of his forearm, and told him that Robin was in hospital. That he was going to be okay, probably, and if he wasn't then it wasn't _his_ fault, so he'd better not start getting any ideas, because he didn't want to have to get another tetanus jab.

Tommo had also told him, briefly, about some tall dark figure, and how Robin's dad had been so shocked to find Robin in that state he was convinced he had seen the man turn to dust in front of him.

Vlad couldn't remember what he had said, if he had thanked Tommo or simply put the phone down on him. It didn't matter.

Tonight the vampire world was going to sit up and take notice of him.

* * *

"Robin, thank God!" was the first thing he heard upon rejoining the land of the sentient and still breathing. "If you do anything so stupid again, I swear to God I'll kill you," was the second. Robin hadn't known his father was quite so religious.

He couldn't speak, didn't have the energy, but his father just held his hand anyway, and said,

"I'm so glad you're alright, Robin."

He wanted to ask questions, to tell his dad to stop clinging to his hand and making him look like a girl, but he settled for smiling at the man. Mr. Branagh smiled back at him, as obviously exhausted as he was elated, but then the smile slipped and his tone changed as he said, quietly,

"Do you remember there being a man, Robin?"

But it was too late. He was too tired and, already, he was sinking back down into the welcoming darkness.

* * *

"I regret to inform you," Vlad began without preamble, "that Minister Tschetter was reduced to dust this morning."

Murmuring and whispering spread throughout the chamber like wildfire, and Vlad heard more than one hiss of, "slayers!"

"I can assure you that it had nothing to do with the slayers."

Confusion grew. Tatiana von Schinnen looked green, eyes darting for an escape route. Vlad allowed himself a small smile. He had thought ahead, there were as many loyal to the Crown bodyguards stationed about the place as Varn had been able to provide him with. Given that he had a family the size ofBelgium, the number was sizable.

"He had involved himself in a plot against me. There are others in this room, perhaps, who assisted him."

For the first time since he had taken his position, he saw real fear on the faces of the vampires looking back at him. He had the power of life and death; it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

"Well," he pressed, timing his pauses carefully. "I'm waiting."

There was more murmuring, some of it frantic, and Vlad let the uncertainty drag on before reciting the speech Ingrid had helped him prepare. She had promised her help and, though they hadn't always got on, she had delivered.

She had spent all afternoon coaching him on how to stand, and how to glare, and how to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. Backbenchers. Whatever. The rise and fall of Ingrid's army of minions had had to benefit him at some point, after all.

"You are either with me, or against me," he said, concentrating on looking menacing and not stumbling over the words with his fangs in the way. "I'd think of Tschetter's fate before making your decision."

He did a bit more glaring – Ingrid really was a fan of that – then sat with a flourish. Even his reflection felt satisfied.

"I see you've been taking tips from your sister," Varn told him after Council had begrudgingly reaffirmed its loyalty. "Marvellous girl. If I were a couple of hundred years younger…"

Vlad tuned him out, and paused only to give him an apologetic grin before disappearing. He had places to be, people to see.

* * *

"Dad, I'm not a baby," Robin groused as Mr. Branagh helped him sit up a little, but was secretly pleased all the same. His leg hurt, his back hurt, his head hurt, and his brain hurt with trying to work out how he was going to convince his dad that he hadn't seen a vampire crumble to dust in front of him.

"You lost a lot of blood," Mr. Branagh reasoned, softly, trying to be mindful of the fact the rest of the ward was sleeping. The nursing staff had let him settle in the uncomfortable chair beside the bed, like he really was six and needed his hand holding.

He sighed. He was tired and in pain, but he'd been trying to sleep again without success for almost an hour. All he could think about was Vlad, and how desperately he wanted to talk to him. To be sure he was alright. His phone had gone AWOL, and when he had given his dad the number and made him try, there had been no answer.

"Can I have a chocolate bar?" He asked then, because at least it would take his mind off it.

Mr. Branagh frowned, no doubt thinking of the 5-a-Day rap, but, given the circumstances, he nodded and padded out of the door and down the corridor towards the vending machine.

Robin settled back against the pillows, wondering how impressed everyone at school would be when he came back with crutches, and the external fixator, and photos of his leg before the surgery, with the bone sticking through the skin like something out of a horror movie.

Tommo would speak to him again, he felt sure of it, and even Price would have to leave him alone then. Or at least let up a bit.

He was daydreaming about Nancy Davies from the lower sixth swooning over him – and Vlad being jealous enough to get possessive in public – when he heard a familiar voice whispering his name.

"How did you get in?" He asked, though he couldn't keep the goofy grin off his face.

"It's a NHS hospital," Vlad told him, and he couldn't seem to stop smiling either. "Everyone's welcome."

There was so much he wanted to say, a hundred things he wanted to make sure Vlad understood. But Vlad just leant in and kissed him, gently.

"You could have broken your neck," Vlad said, sternly. "Could have killed yourself." He closed his eyes for a moment, obviously restraining himself. "I'll lecture you when you're back in Stokely. You need to sleep now."

He was out like a light before Mr. Branagh had even found enough loose change to spur the machine into action.

* * *

Robin arrived home a week later, and Vlad dared the walk with nothing but a thick hood and an umbrella, unable to wait a second longer to see him. He had snuck in to see Robin again at the hospital, and they'd each explained their stories to each other. But it wasn't the same, not in a ward full of people and with the imminent return of Mr. Branagh at any given moment.

No, this was what he had been waiting for.

And, everything else was starting to look up. His mother had returned to Patrick, and he had had no less than four Ministers come to the Castle, unsummoned, to swear personal allegiance to him. Ingrid was gloating worse than ever, naturally, but Varn said he couldn't foresee any major objections to her taking Tatiana von Schinnen's seat on the Lower Council.

Von Schinnen herself had been packed off on a one way journey to Trans-Siberia, ostensibly on a fact finding mission. He hoped she bumped into Adrianus.

Mrs. Branagh let him in, chattering about Mr. Branagh's strange visions, and how the doctors had said shock does very strange things to people, and ushered the twin from the front room so he could sit alone with Robin on the sofa.

"That looks gruesome," he said, eyeing up Robin's bruised and swollen leg, the stitches stark and ugly, underneath the metal keeping the limb straight. Robin beamed, as if he had just paid him a compliment. They just stared at each other then, the tension building, and Robin's voice sounded scratchy when he said,

"I've missed you, Vlad."

Vlad felt his chest ache, right about where his heart ought to be, and he shifted closer, being careful not to hurt Robin.

"I've got something to –" they both started, and stopped abruptly.

"You go first," Vlad said, magnanimously. Robin shook his head,

"No, it's alright. You go."

Vlad raised an eyebrow at Robin's unusual behaviour, but screwed up his courage and started talking. He had been thinking about it all week.

"Before you went. Well, why you went. I mean –" Ingrid's advice didn't work as well when he wasn't trying to be intimidating. "We can, if you want to. You _know_." He could feel himself blushing, soya blood sluggishly circulating. "I mean, when your leg's better."

Robin took his hand to stop his babbling, smiled at him soppily like he always made fun of people in films for doing. It became obvious that Robin had had something of a revelation of his own, because he pulled Vlad closer still and wrapped his good arm around him.

"Of course I want to. But I can wait. I'm not going anywhere, I think I've proven that this week." Robin kissed his cheek, half in reassurance, half for emphasis. Vlad turned his head and kissed him properly just for a moment, then lay his head on Robin's shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his pulse, and enjoying the way Robin seemed content with the situation. He could hear the sincerity in Robin's voice, and it made his stomach flip-flop, even as Robin said,

"We've got plenty of time, Vlad."


End file.
